To Woo A Weasley
by Adali
Summary: up to OOtP - Fed up with Ron's refusal to notice her, Hermione devises a rather drastic plan. Draco just wants to bug Ron. Then the hormones kick in. RonHermione DracoGinny.
1. Chapter 1

_I know I said I was going to finish the others, but then I decided I wanted a Draco-Ginny fic, and I just don't have the patience to wade through all the angst that would be necessary to build that ship out of "Think My Name's Funny, Do You," and so this was born. I actually have a plan this time, I promise, so it shouldn't be too long. No more characters escaping and running amok in my stories, I promise._

**Disclaimer:** if you recognize it, it isn't mine. That's why this is a fanfic.

The sun was its own height above the horizon, still wreathed about with the last clouds from the rain storm the night before. The bird's dawn chorus was fading away, leaving the happy tranquility of a late summer morning.

While all was peaceful outside, inside the Burrow a storm raged in the form of one very irate Ginny Weasley. "You what?" she demanded, turning from her pacing to glare at the girl who sat, meekly cross-legged, on her bed.

"Please, Ginny, it's not that big of a deal," she pleaded, warily eyeing the younger girl. She like Ginny, and even repected her when she forgot that Ginny was a little girl that needed looking-after. She didn't have a lot of girls to talk to, and that Ginny had always been there for her - if grudgingly at times - meant a lot.

"Not that… Hermione! You do know who we're talking about, don't you?"

"Oh please, Gin, I'm sorry I can't explain it. Just please don't tell Ron." She looked beseechingly at the little redhead who had resumed her pacing around the confines of the small room.

Ginny threw a glare over her shoulder at the other girl. "No chance of that. He has a shoot-the-messenger policy, you know. You can take all the flak for this idiocy yourself."

"Just give him a chance, Gin. I'm not asking you to like him, just don't attack him on sight. He's really very sweet, deep down." Had Ginny been any less angry, she might have noticed the slight hesitation when Hermione said the last part. As it was, she was too distracted to notice, let alone wonder about it.

"Ron and Harry are going to be pissed, you know. There is no way you are going to be able to explain this one away."

"Ron and Harry," Hermione returned, showing backbone for the first time in the conversation, "will just have to deal with it."

"Hermione, how did this happen? He doesn't even like you!"

Hermione flinched away from the other girl's gaze. Between the heat of her anger and the sun's reflection off her bright red hair, her eyes seemed to turn a very angry and disturbing red. They seemed to bore into her, and she was well aware that nothing she could say would bring Ginny around to her side. Besides, the younger girl was right: he didn't like her at all, and she hardly liked him any better.

"Please Ginny," she tried again, even as her hope that the girl would be her ally when it came to facing Ron and Harry crumbled. "Just try to be understanding."

Ginny's eyes burned with a cold fire. She looked every inch the Gryffindor, with the same light that turned her eyes scarlet tinting her skin an amber gold. Despite the warmth of her appearance, her words dripped with ice. "There's a lot of things I could forgive you for Hermione. Almost anything, in fact. But dating Draco Malfoy isn't one of them."


	2. Chapter 2

Shoving his trunk onto the train, Harry allowed himself a small smile. It was nice to be going back to Hogwarts. He liked the Burrow, enjoyed his time there, but Hogwarts was home. He couldn't imagine what he would do next year after he graduated. Oh, he'd become an auror, of course, just like he'd always dreamed, and yet… he wouldn't be at Hogwarts. Coming here at the beginning of his first year had been the biggest change of his life, but graduating would very nearly match it.

He forced himself to listen to what Ron was saying. "…poncy git, thinks he's so good…" and sure enough, Malfoy was standing a few feet down the platform, talking in a low voice to Crabbe and Goyle. After six years, names were unnecessary when talking about Malfoy; adjectives sufficed, and cusses worked even better. Next to him, Hermione was standing quietly. Something had happened to her over the summer, he was certain. She had come to stay at the Burrow for the last week of vacation, and most of the time she had been quietly distracted, staring off into space and jerking suddenly when someone addressed her. She had that look again, the one she had had so often lately, and she wasn't even admonishing Ron for his language. But she would tell him if there was anything seriously wrong, wouldn't she? She was his friend, and there was nothing he couldn't tell her, and have her be sympathetic or understanding about. And, Merlin knew, he tried his best to be there for her, although in his defense, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, (sometimes) hero of the wizarding world, was still only a teenage boy. His own emotions were a strange and uncharted landscape that he wasn't too keen on exploring; Hermione's were well outside his realm of understanding. But he tried, really he did.

He looked around for Ginny, but she seemed to have already disappeared onto the train. With Ron's blessing, he'd begun, well, perusing the littlest Weasley over the summer. That wasn't really the right word, of course, but there was no other way to really describe it. He tried his best to be sweet to her, show her that he cared, all those other things Hermione's letters on the subject had advised… and when he'd finally managed to get her alone and had the courage to try and kiss her, she'd pushed him away. Not hard, he reminded himself, his ego needing any boost he could give it, and although she'd been nice about it, she was also firm. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I just can't deal with having a boyfriend right now." He'd offered to wait, and she'd sighed, her thin, delicate shoulders slumping a little from that perfect, proud posture she'd held them in ever since her fourth year. "I waited for you for years, Harry. You don't want to make the same mistake I did."

When did she grow up, he wondered. More importantly, who was it he had fallen in love with: the sweet, quiet little Ginny, or the beautiful, independent one? He suspected it was the latter, and felt a small twinge of regret. Maybe if he'd been paying attention before, he would have had a chance with her.

Almost the moment they were settled in a compartment, Hermione got up and locked the door behind the three of them. To Harry she looked, if possible, even paler than before, and her eyes had a wide, worried quality to them that he wasn't sure he liked. She stood facing them, her hands clasped in what would have been a serene posture if Harry hadn't been able to see how white her knuckles were.

"Eh, 'Mione, what's up?" Ron demanded, looking up from the tattered quidditch magazine that had occupied his attention since they left the Burrow earlier that morning.

The girl took a deep breath, obviously steeling herself for what she was about to say. "Ron, Harry, you know I went to France this summer for that magic convention." Ron made a bored noise, but Harry just nodded. Obviously, this was something Hermione was not looking forward to telling them. "Of course, I wasn't the only one there from Hogwarts."

"I remember," Harry said. "Dumbledore sent one from each House."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, well, of course he sent Malfoy from Slytherin and…"

"Slimy git!" Ron interjected.

"Well, anyway, he…"

"What did the sodding bastard do?" Ron demanded.

Hermione went very red. "He asked me out," she said quietly.

For Harry, it seemed that all sound had suddenly disappeared from the world. It was a bit like when he had faced the Horntail, back in his fourth year, and the entire world had dimmed away except for what he was focused on. He stared at Hermione, whose face was now alternating between bright red and very pale indeed. As realization hit him, he fell off his seat. "You said yes?" he croaked in disbelief.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late July, and outside the windows the heat shimmered like so many insubstantial ghosts. Inside the elegant palace, spells woven into the very stones of the building kept the air comfortably cool, enough so that the teens that moved through the hallways could wear the formal robes that courtesy dictated.

Hermione Granger moved quickly through these hallways, her robes stirring about her as she went. She had only just got out of her last meeting of the day, and she had to hurry to make sure the boy she was going to meet was still in his room, rather than off preparing for whatever social event was planned for them all that night. Or, worse, before she lost her resolve.

She knocked, hardly waiting for the curt summons to enter the chamber. It was very like her own, a few hallways away, although he had quite obviously brought his own bedding, and there was a certain elegance to the room not normally associated with a student's bedroom. The boy she was looking for was seated at his desk. He looked up at her through silver-blond hair that hung into his eyes, and at the sight of her, a sneer fitted itself so quickly onto his fine-boned features that it might have always been there.

"Get out, Mudblood," he said.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it before answering. "No. I want to talk to you."

"Too bad. I don't want to listen to you."

Hermione took a deep breath. Now that she was here, it was almost easier to go through with her plan. "I have a proposition for you."

"I'm not interested." He'd turned away from her, going back to his papers with an air that said she was boring, but not so much so that he wouldn't hex her soundly if she wasn't out of the room in three seconds.

She pushed on as if she hadn't heard him. "Do you want to piss of Ron royally? Why am I asking, of course you do. Well, here's your chance. Pretend to be my boyfriend when we go back to Hogwarts."

Lounging in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Draco Malfoy considered the events of the last month. Or, more specifically, one event, just over a week ago, just before he had returned from France. That mudblood Granger had asked him to pose as her boyfriend. He'd pointed out that, however mad it might make Potty and Weasel, he would lose considerable status in the eyes of his housemates. But the Slytherins didn't have to be lied to, she'd pointed out, as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world. They only had to put the show on for Harry and Ron and the other Gryffindors. And Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, she'd amended, but Draco had never given a damn about them anyway. The whole of Slytherin could have a good laugh at Potty and Weasel's expense, it was true. The only thing that soured it was that Granger would be in on it.

Still, there was the risk that she would get cold feet and bail on him, leaving him look like an idiot, Gryffindor pride be damned. He'd set his cold, calculating mind on it, and come up with two stipulations to the deal. She'd agreed so readily he'd almost laughed in her face. It was so obvious why Gryffindor's always lost at chess: they never thought more than a single move ahead.

First, she couldn't tell anyone about the deal. Obviously, she thought he'd extended that taboo to himself as well, but he hadn't. It was one more weapon against Potty and Weasel, just in case Granger's plan screwed up (which is probably would, seeing as it was thought up by a Gryffindor). And second, she couldn't call it off. He, and he alone, would decide when their little farce was over. She obviously hadn't realized the significance of that: if he wanted to keep her tied to him all year, or even beyond, he could. They'd sealed the deal with magic, after all.

And for what? Just so she could finally have Weasel look at her as something other than a bushy-haired, buck-toothed mudblood. Gryffindors, he thought with disgust. Thinking with their stupid, sappy hearts instead of their heads.

A tap on the compartment door announced the arrival of Crabbe and Goyle. The two lugs took their seats, taking in the satisfied smirk on their leader's face. Matters would have to be explained to them in very simple terms, yes, but oh, what a grand joke this was going to be. If Weasel didn't notice the mudblood (which seemed likely), then either he'd turn against her completely (with no harm done to Draco) or die of an apoplectic rage at the idea that one of his friends dating Draco Malfoy. Of course, he hoped for the second outcome, but he was reasonably well grounded in reality, and knew it wasn't terribly likely. Nonetheless, Granger had unknowingly handed him a tool to have a lot of fun at Weasel's expense for many years to come.


	4. Chapter 4

When Draco had been younger, he'd liked to walk around the dungeons of the castle, thinking the dim light had made him look more sinister. Over time, sadly, he'd had to accept that people didn't shiver because they saw him, but because no one in the history of Hogwarts had bothered putting in a decent heating system under the castle. It was cold and damp and dark, and not at all pleasant. Given the choice, he would have rather lived in the Hufflepuff dormitories, which he had heard were all glass and growing things and light and, most importantly, warmth. Not that he wanted to be a Hufflepuff, mind you, it was just that every once in a while he considered kicking them all out and taking over their dormitories.

Not that he would ever tell anyone this. He worked hard to maintain the illusion that he liked the cold, that he didn't even notice it. There was just something slightly more intimidating about someone who wasn't susceptible to something as inglorious as cold toes in winter. But that was what magic was for, not that it ever occurred to anyone else. For the right price, he could have had swim trunks charmed to keep him warm in the deepest of winter with no one the wiser. Not that he ever would - how foolish would that have looked? But it could be done. So while Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini shivered under their thick quilts, he passed each night in incomparable comfort between his silk sheets.

"Merlin, it's cold down here," the girl next to him muttered.

He sneered at her. "Remind me again why you're down here, Mudblood."

"It was this or kiss you in public, Ferret," she snapped.

He glowered at her, but muttered the password that let them into the Slytherin common room. "Stay out of the way," he growled as he stormed past her to throw himself into a chair by the fire, where Crabbe and Goyle waited like the good dogs they were. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Mudblood settle herself in a corner and start on her homework.

"Malfoy, why is the Mudblood in here?" Zabini drawled. No one could drawl quite like Zabini, Draco thought. It wasn't that he was menacing, but rather that he sounded like he had a twelve inch wand stuck up his ass when he did it. It was almost comical, and he might have made fun of him had Zabini not had a very well developed sense of revenge.

"To piss of Potty."

"You could do it just as well in public, Malfoy. All you have to do is touch her and the Weasel is practically apoplectic."

"But I happen to like these robes," Draco drawled in return. "And it's so hard to get the filth of Mudblood out of silk." Over in her corner, he could see the Mudblood color. Good: she had asked for this.

He didn't even look over when, some time later, Pansy snatched the Mudblood's homework away and stole all her answers. No, the plan was definitely not going the way the Mudblood had thought it would. She had obviously thought that Weasel would come after him in a fit of jealous rage and she'd somehow get her happily ever after. That just showed what Gryffindor's knew about scheming. He'd known from the first that it was galleons to knuts that Weasel would be so angry he'd just stop talking to the Mudblood, leaving poor, golden-hearted Potty stuck in the middle. He didn't even have to do anything but force himself to smile at the Mudblood once in a while, and the Golden Trio tormented themselves. They'd only been back a week, and already the Mudblood had begged him twice to end it. He smirked to himself as he stared into the fire. It would be a long time before the Mudblood got herself out of this one.


	5. Chapter 5

_A slightly longer chapter. More coming soon, although my other Harry Potter fic is taking precedence right now. Hugs to everyone who reviewed._

A light breeze blew in through the open window, teasing Ginny's red curls gently about her face. She gazed thoughtfully at her reflection, considering her appearance from different angles. The effect was not as spectacular as she'd hoped, but she certainly looked good. She'd never be as tall as Hermione, but then, Charlie wasn't tall either, and he still managed to loom over even Bill and Percy. He'd taught her that little trick, of 'thinking big' as he put it, and one of her friends had once sworn it added two inches to her height. She might not loom over Draco Malfoy, but he wouldn't be looking down on her today.

Ah, today… what a piece of absolute foolishness. Whatever had possessed Hermione to think a weekend picnic for the five of them would be a good idea? The boys would be at each other's throats the whole time, and Hermione would be caught in the middle, catching her fair share of abuse. And Ginny herself? She had no idea. Hopefully she wouldn't be pulled into a brawl with Malfoy, but you never could tell.

What was that bastard playing at, she wondered for what seemed the thousandth time. He wasn't interested in Hermione - anyone with eyes could see that. And Hermione didn't care for him any more than she ever had. It really was a wonder that Ron and Harry didn't see through the farce. But what did they think they were doing? She frowned at her reflection as she tried to puzzle it out.

Well, what did she know, she though, trying to fit the pieces together. Hermione was 'dating' Malfoy. The two didn't really do anything together where anyone could see, just smiled at each other in the hallways and occasionally made some comment that couldn't be termed insulting. A couple of days each week, Hermione went to the Slytherin common room, where she sat in a corner and did her homework, while Malfoy got on with his life.

That last she knew because Blaise had told her, and that meant she trust the knowledge as firmly as if she had seen it with her own eyes. She had gone out with Blaise once over the summer, and although it hadn't come to anything, she didn't mind the boy so much. Well, he was terribly arrogant, and tended to walk around like he had a wand up his ass, but he was nice enough to those he liked (although there weren't many of those) and he didn't lie. Which wasn't to say he was above misdirecting someone, or insinuating something he knew wasn't true, but if he straight out told her something, she believed him. Besides, what would he gain from lying about this? The only change in her perspective the knowledge had given her was that, instead of preparing to ship Hermione off to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward, she had to accept that Malfoy and Hermione were up to something, but were only cooperating with each other because they had no choice.

And now to drag her and Harry and Ron into this… where was the sense? Well, she'd always rather thought Hermione might fancy Ron, and from some of the girl's broader hints over the past few years, she thought Ginny and Harry might be good together. Oh Merlin, Ginny though, collapsing onto her bed. Was this whole thing a deranged attempt at match-making? Except that she'd already told Harry she wasn't interested, and Hermione ought to have heard all about that. After all, her own brother had been the original instigator of that, and Harry had been the one hitting on her, and of course when things didn't work out they'd run crying to their mutual best friend who, being a girl, might be able to explain just what was going on.

Unless Hermione had just decided that Ginny was just playing hard to get. After all, once Hermione latched onto an idea, it took the end of the world to get her to let go of it, and she would be utterly convinced she was right the entire time. Oh, but this time… this time she'd really made some mistakes. It wasn't that the girl wasn't smart, it's just that in some respects she was rather simple.

Ginny still heard the echoes of Tom Riddle sometimes, especially when she encountered something that reminded her strongly of her first year. Not that there was any vestige of the phantom Head Boy left in her, but as Dumbledore had told her, you couldn't spend a year being slowly taken over, and then possessed, by an extremely malevolent spirit without a few bad memories surfacing once in a while. So sometimes, when she looked at Hermione, she saw the girl as Tom had, and she knew how easy it was to manipulate someone like her. Ginny would never have been able to bring herself to do it but Malfoy… Malfoy wouldn't think twice, especially if it meant he could bring pain to Harry and Ron.

"Ginny?" Well, if it wasn't the girl herself. Arrived to drag Ginny out to the Picnic of Pain, and she had privately begun thinking of it. If Ron didn't ask Hermione out within the month and put them all out of their misery, Ginny privately vowed, she would go and hex all of them - Ron, Harry, Malfoy and most especially Hermione - so badly they wouldn't recover for a decade.

There was a light breeze pushing through the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and making the tiniest of ripples about the edge of the lake. Out on the grounds, students lazed about in the early September sun, laughing and relaxing and generally enjoying a weekend of gorgeous weather. It was the perfect day for a… for a… sweet Circe, he couldn't even bring himself to think the word.

"Why am I going to a _picnic_?" Blaise drawled. Yes, that was the worded. That horrid, hateful word.

"If I have to suffer, so do you," Draco snapped. "I'm not going to be surrounded by a bunch of Gryffindors." He spat the word like a curse.

The look Zabini sent him was pure ice. "You could have brought your goons. And anyway, why go at all?" he continued, not giving Draco a chance to answer. "I'm beginning to suspect there's more to this than you said. Don't tell me you actually _like _the Mudblood."

"Say that again and I'll kill you where you stand, Zabini. And you didn't have to agree to come."

"Death threats. Just my lot, as always." Blaise sighed extravagantly. "You do have me there, though, Malfoy. So I'd like another chance to get at Ginny Weasley." Hearing Draco's sound of protest, he smirked knowingly. "Come off it. You know you'd go with her if you had the chance."

Hell, Draco thought sourly, half the male population of Hogwarts would, if not for two problems. The first, which didn't phase him at all, was Weasley the elder. The other, and slightly more daunting to any man with a brain, was the girl herself. How many hearts had she crushed already this year with a polite 'no thank-you'? Rumor put it at almost half a dozen. But really, the ultimate problem for Draco, the one he couldn't overcome enough to see Ginny Weasley as anything other than another impoverished redhead was, well, her being a Weasley. "Some of us have standards," he snarled.

Even as the words came out, he realized Blaise wasn't listening. "Well hello," the other boy breathed quietly. Draco, glancing at his housemate, saw a boy who looked like he'd just been hit over the head with a Beater's club. There was no other way to achieve that expression, with the slack jaw and slightly glazed eyes. He almost looked around for someone with quidditch gear but… ah, that would do it too.

Poor Ginny Weasley might be, but even Draco had to admit she knew what to do with what she had. Her yellow sundress wasn't in the latest style, but it fit her well, and the color brought out the gold in her tan. Red and gold… best not forget that, he told himself sternly. A Gryffindor to the bone. So why was she watching him with that calculating look he had come to think of as a Slytherin trademark? He glanced at the others around her, wondering if they'd seen that coolly conniving look on their precious Gryffindor good-girl, but it seemed they hadn't, and at that moment Draco was pretty sure Blaise wouldn't notice if the squid hopped out of the lake and started dancing the fandango.

There were Potty and Weasel, looking mutinous and talking with their heads close together, every once in a while shooting him and Zabini dark looks. The Mudblood didn't look too happy either, but she was bent over the basket, pretending to be busy laying out food for them all.

But that discomfiting look was gone quickly, covered over with a sweet smile. "Blaise," she greeted the boy, who stammered something out in return. Did that boy have it bad or what. "Malfoy." Her voice was chilly and flat, just short of actually being offensive. He met her gaze directly, and favored her with a small smirk.

"Miss Weasley. I'd say I'm charmed but…" he shrugged elegantly - he knew that shrug was elegant, he'd practiced it in front of the mirror enough times - and went on, "I'm not."

"Draco, darling," the Mudblood said, all but spitting the words. She was regretting her hasty plan now, that was obvious.

"Malfoy," Potter said, his voice even flatter than Ginny's had been, but his eyes burned angrily. "Zabini." The elder Weasley just glared at him. Perhaps Weasley the Elder liked to think of himself as the strong, silent type, Draco reflected privately. He wasn't strong, but the silent part was just fine with him.

And was that a note of jealousy he had detected in Potty's voice when he greeted Blaise? Why, yes, it did appear to be. The boy looked like his girlfriend had left him for a blast-ended skrewt. Was that the case? He watched Ginny Weasley out of the corner of his eye as he sat down. She was flirting a bit with Blaise, who looked like Christmas had come months early, but she didn't seem particularly interested in him. She was making an impression on Potty, though, that was for sure.

He snagged a pie that the Mudblood had put out and lay back on the blanket to eat it. Not only had her plan gone completely wrong, she had handed him the keys to bringing down half of Gryffindor. Oh yes, this was going to be a fun year.


	6. Chapter 6

_Another short little chappie, just some little photographs as it were. I know I promised that the characters wouldn't get out of hand this time: I lied. They are completely out of control. Still, I don't see this running more than about ten chapters (of course, that's what I said about the Tonks fic) but this time I really mean it. So, I'm going to try and finish this quickly so Draco and Ginny will just leave me alone and I can get back to my other things._

Over the years and through his many visits to the hospital wing, Harry had learned to differentiate between Madame Pomfrey's different tutting sounds. There was the one where she was annoyed with the school for subjecting its students to something dangerous. He'd heard that one several times over the course of his fourth year, as she mopped up the various competitors in the Triwizard Tournament. There was the one when she was feeling sorry for someone. That one he'd mostly encountered in his first two years, before Madame P began to regard him as something of a regular visitor.

And then there was the one you got when she thought you were being absolutely and incurably stupid, and she wasn't sure she ought to fix you up, but would rather leave you to suffer so you'd learn your lesson. That's the one he was getting now, as she looked over him, Ron and Malfoy.

"Miss Granger, just what were you thinking, inviting these three to a picnic together?" The matron made it sound rather like the girl had thought inviting a pack of demons to a picnic would be a lark. "They tell me you're a surpassingly intelligent young woman, but all I'm seeing is an incredible lack of foresight."

"I'm sorry, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione mumbled. Harry tried to smile at her, but the rising bruise on his jaw made the attempt rather painful.

"Your Heads of Houses will hear about this, I promise you. At least Mr. Zabini and Miss Weasley weren't fool enough to get involved."

No, Harry thought bitterly. Ginny had been chatting quite companionably with the Slytherin boy, never giving a thought to what associating with him would do to her reputation in Gryffindor. Whereas it was obvious Malfoy was holding something over Hermione, making her go through all this (although she didn't seem to be fighting him too hard), Ginny was happily dragging her name and the pride of Gryffindor through the mud. And despite the huge fight, and Hermione dragging them all back to the castle to the infirmary, the girl was _still _happily chatting to the Slytherin as though nothing had happened. It was infuriating, that's what it was.

And, worse, he suspected she was just doing it to annoy him. He'd always liked that yellow dress, and now he found himself loving it, and loving her, _and she wouldn't even look at him_. It was worse than all those years he'd spent infatuated with Cho: then, he'd just thought Cho was unattainable. But Ginny had had a crush on him for years, and now that he was in love with her, she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in crushing his heart under one delicate foot.

There she was, flirting with Zabini, who was practically drooling over her, while he sat covered in bruises. And she didn't even care. Something was going to have to be done.

Hermione had the dorm to herself for now, and she was very glad. She didn't want the other girls to see her like this: red eyed, red cheeked, and prone to start sobbing again every time she remembered the look Ron had sent her after Madame Pomfrey had let them out of the infirmary. He'd been mad at her before, but now she was positive he would never speak to her again.

How could she have ever thought this was the way to get him to admit his feelings for her? Things were just getting worse, and there was no way she could set this right. She'd just have to make Malfoy see what a mistake this was. But even as she resolved that, she was very afraid that the worse things got for her, the happier Malfoy was.

Draco had been in the library, hiding from Crabbe and Goyle. Never mind that all of Slytherin House knew about the deal he'd made with the Mudblood, some of them had decided that his decision to go to a picnic was entirely suspect. But now it was getting on towards dinner time, and he was hungry. Besides, if he didn't face them soon, people might think he had something to hide.

He saw a flash of red through the bookshelves and, without quite realizing what he was doing, made his way through the library to where Ginny was bent over some homework. He paused behind her, debating which acid comment to make. There were so many one could make about the littlest Weasley, although if he went too far there was always the possibility of one of those brothers coming after him. Weasel didn't scare him, but he'd passed two of the bigger ones in Diagon Alley over the summer, and they might have been able to bodily rip him apart before he could so much as reach for his wand.

"No, Malfoy, I won't go out with you," she said, not turning around. She hadn't seen him come up behind her, had she?

"What makes you think I was going to ask, Weasley?" he demanded, surprise making him forget all the cruel comments that had been just on the tip of his tongue.

Now she finally did look at him, twisting in her chair and giving him such a look of scorn that, if it weren't for a thousand years of Malfoy pride bred into him, he might have fainted on the spot. "I have to assume your actions lately are a result of being dropped on your hear. You're dating a muggle-born, what's to say you won't ask a Weasley out next? Only, I'm not interested, although Percy might be. Although he doesn't normally go for the albino ferret type." She gave him one last sneer and turned back to her homework, leaving him pole-axed. Had she just…? She had, too. Many of his most common insults, thrown back in his face like they didn't matter. And now she was _ignoring_ him. He, Draco Malfoy, was being ignored.

I'm not doing this, he told himself fiercely as he walked around the table and took a seat across from her. Again, she didn't even glance at him. "Go away, boy. I'd fall for Voldemort before I fell for you."

"And I'd date a mudblood before I'd date you," he retorted, realizing too late what he'd said.

She shot him an amused glance. "Malfoy, you have as much chance with me as Snape does with Sinistra." She said is so matter-of-factly that for a moment he was taken aback.

"You know about that? But Snape doesn't even like you."

"No, he doesn't," she agreed, "but he at least respects me. Now go away, I'm working."

He wasn't running away from her, he told himself as he made his way out of the library. It was just that nothing had come out the way he had intended, and sometimes the key to winning was knowing when to fall back and regroup. Yes, that's what this was: a strategetic retreat. It was only after the library door was closed firmly behind him that he realized that he hadn't even managed to insult her once.

"Bugger."


	7. Chapter 7

_Finally got this story moving again. Sadly, right when I decided I wanted to work on it, and had a clear idea of how the chapter would play out, my computer died. So this chapter was written my hand, and then typed in on a library laptop. What a pain. In other news, I have now completely lost the plan I had for this story. However, this chapter was central to it (I do remember that), so the story should wrap up fairly soon. I think this chapter might have ended up being in a slightly different style than the others, mostly because of the time gap. We've started novels in English, and while they're horrible and make me suffer, I think they might have impacted my writing anyway. Apologies for taking so long, and for any errors that remain in this chapter, and hugs to everyone who reviewed._

"Never thought it would happen."

Draco's eyes flicked up to the girl who sat across from him, then back down to the board between them. There was a moment when he was nearly afraid that he would show more emotion, but years of practice kept his features cold and smooth. It was especially good that they did: he wasn't sure which emotion might have flashed across his face given half a chance. Most likely, it would have been irritation, for they had hardly spoken since sitting down to their game, and he liked the silence. But then again, it could have been something akin to pleasure at hearing her voice speaking to him in words that weren't insults or obscenities. Though she had always sworn at him less than the others, he doubted that it was because she disliked him any less. Rather, she seemed to hold herself above that, and let her distaste show in other ways.

He waited for her to elaborate on the thought, but she seemed determined to make him either talk or suffer of his curiosity. Damn his curiosity, anyway – it had always gotten him in more trouble than malice or petty cruelty ever had. "What would happen?" he gritted out, angry more at himself for losing the battle of wills that had ended in his speaking than at her.

Pale, delicate hands flitted across the board, touching this piece and that, as she considered her next move. "Any number of things." A piece was moved, the soft click of marble clearly audible over the crackle of the fire as she set it down. Her fingers lingered for a moment, as though she were unsure of her move, but then drew back.

Draco made his move in silence, determined not to rise to her bait and speak again. He would win this contest of wills, just as he won everything else that he competed against her in. A glance up at her through the hair that hung into his face showed a quiet, contented smile, as though she could sense the direction of his thoughts, and was amused by it. That smile reminded him of all the times he had lost to her, in quidditch or duels or verbal sparring. She was a worthwhile opponent, he would give her that. He could almost like her for it; unlike Potty, who looked at him only with contempt and dislike, Ginny Weasley seemed to find him to be at least worth the effort to fight with.

Her grin widened as his hand left the piece, her eyes crinkling slightly as she met his gaze. "Fine," she said, conceding that she would have to speak first. "Two Gryffindors in the Slytherin common room. Your farce with Hermione lasting until Christmas." Her fingers dancing across the board added 'playing chess with you.' She rested her hand on each piece in turn, reflective thought shining in her face as she thought. He had the upper hand in their game, though only just, but his last move had been the first in a sequence with which he planned to end the game. Could she see it? But no, it seemed she didn't, or she would have moved to avoid it now, while there was still time.

"Ginny." The slightly desperate cry came from the other side of the room, where up until now the Mudblood had been sitting quietly, doing an assignment that she had long ago resigned herself to having stolen. If nothing else, these last four months as his girlfriend had served to break the Buck-tooth's spirits, perhaps irreversibly so. He half expected Ginny to leave the game to go to her housemate's aid. He had expected her to at least look up. Her eyes never left the board. A slight twitch of one cheek was his only indication that she had even heard.

"True," he conceded, magnanimous after forcing her to back down first. "What are you doing here?" The question was out before he realized, damn his curiosity. He lowered his guard for a second, and wound up handing her the advantage, all tied up in a silver bow.

Her slight smirk said she knew it too. Damn if the girl shouldn't have been a Slytherin, with a fine mind and sense of competitiveness like that. "Playing chess with you."

He could have made some retort about her moping over Potty, or going off and selling herself to Zabini because her family needed the money. He could have made a snide remark about Gryffindor loyalty. He could hardly understand himself why he made his move in silence than settled back into what he hoped was a suitably arrogant pose to watch her search the board for some escape. Making a comment like that would have just proven he was on the defensive, he assured himself.

"Ginny." Her hand paused this time, and the irritation that flashed across her face was more pronounced. What was it costing her to pretend indifference, he wondered. It wouldn't be much longer before she cracked. Then she would lose the battle to prove that she wasn't a milk-hearted wimp, just as she was about to lose their game of chess. He would be the winner on every front. A pity he hadn't thought to set stakes on the game at the beginning.

But what would he have asked for? She had nothing he wanted. If it were Potty or any other Gryffindor, he might have required them to do something humiliating, or which would end with them in copious amounts of trouble. To require such a thing of her, however, would cheapen the adversity, from something truly worthwhile to the petty hatred he shared with almost everyone else in this school.

The sound of marble on marble was decisive this time as she made her move. Distantly, he found himself enjoying watching her pull her hand back from the piece. Her hands were so pale, so white against the absolute green of the marble, showing up in stark contrast. His own pieces, polished silver, shone crimson and gold with reflected firelight. Strange, that it should be so.

She must be able to see the trap forming now, he thought. The speed of my moves, if nothing else, should tell her that. It had been a good game so far, but he had no illusions as to how this would turn out. Their petty rivalries and prejudices aside, Gryffindors were chosen for courage and fortitude, while Slytherins were predisposed to being good at planning and reading people. Chess, even wizard chess – which this wasn't, as he found the ridiculous violence spoiled the mental aspect of the game – relied on those qualities which a true Slytherin possessed in abundance. Blindly charging ahead would win nothing here.

"My brother is the best chess player in Gryffindor," she said quietly, her white fingers caressing first one piece, then the next. She wasn't looking at them, he noticed; she seemed to know where each piece was, and her fingers moved to each exquisitely carved figure with assurance despite her apparent inattention. She lifted a rook, and moved it, placing it down with a delicacy that spoke to him of satisfaction in a job well done. He scanned the board, searching for some sign of what she was planning, but whatever it was eluded him. The board was dominated by his own pieces, arranged and only two moves from sealing the final trap on his unsuspecting opponent. Perhaps she really couldn't see the danger she was in.

He paused with his hand hovering over the board. "If I win, will you answer a question?" Her eyes narrowed in consideration, and he waited for the refusal that he knew would come, although not how. He could ask anything, and though he had not said as much, they both knew he would expect a full and truthful answer. He had offered nothing in return. There was no way she could not refuse, and be justified in doing so.

That small, knowing smile returned to her face. "I accept." There was no counter offer, no requirement of him should she, by some miracle, win. For a moment Draco found himself assailed by doubt. She might see the trap that was closing on her and perhaps, in reckless Gryffindor fashion, she planned to walk straight into it. If so, she was playing to lose. To what end? No, he assured himself, she still thinks she can win. She really doesn't see it. He moved the piece; one move left.

He sat back in his chair and watched her. Her eyes didn't move about as they had before, searching for the next move, but stayed fixed on the center of the board. It seemed, to him, as though she didn't see the board at and instead looked through it to something he couldn't see. She saw it now. She realized that she had been drawn into not one, but two traps.

Her eyes rose to his, and she smiled. It was a genuine smile, one he didn't ever remember her giving him before, and her eyes danced with what he could only suppose was mischief. She didn't look down, but held his eyes with hers as she reached out and moved a piece. He didn't look away, confident that there was nothing she could do at this point to avoid the trap. A single move more would place her in checkmate.

"What do you want to know?"

He could have asked anything. He could have asked her deepest secret, something about Potty or her brother that he could use against them. Later, he couldn't have said exactly why he asked the question he did, only that it seemed the most pressing and important question in the world, and that he felt he might burst if he didn't ask it.

"What are you doing here?"

Her smile never wavered in all the time it took him to finally ask, and even after he had spoken, it didn't fade. It softened, though, and was somehow the more dazzling for it. "Playing chess with you." Her eyes never left his, and she spoke the words as though uttering some profound truth.

"Checkmate."

His head snapped down of its own accord, and his eyes flashed across each of the remaining pieces. There it was, glaring back at him, so obvious he couldn't understand how he had not seen it sooner. She had turned his own trap against him, using it to lock up his pieces so that she could move to this position of utter victory. He looked up at her again, knowing that his shock was clear to read on his face and, for once, not caring. Her smile was still there, soft and genuine and – though it was so strange he wasn't sure he was really seeing it – even somewhat fond. She had such a range of smiles, for so many emotions he couldn't have found names for them all.

Zabini, sensing the end of the match, came over and hovered at her shoulder, as though trying unnecessarily to support her against the older boy. "Hey Ginny, do you want to go get some dinner?" he asked, eager to reclaim the girl's attention. She had come here to the Slytherin dormitories at Zabini's request, but ignored the boy since arriving.

It was as though someone had flipped a switch and turned off the light inside Ginny. The smile she turned on Zabini was just the same as it had been a moment ago, but to Draco it looked false and empty. Her eyes slid back to Draco. The corner of her mouth quirked, and for a second the light flickered on. "Later, Malfoy." Then it was gone, replaced by that cheerful, impersonal smile.

When they were gone, Draco sank back in his chair. His gaze locked on the chess board, and though he could see each piece in perfect detail, they seemed unreal and distant before his eyes. Playing chess with him…


	8. Chapter 8

_I've discovered that I can only write Harry Potter fics in flashes of inspiration. Hopefully, I'll have plenty of those over the next month, since it's exams and it's only three days in and already I'm bored out of my mind... Almost done! (fingers crossed)

* * *

He wasn't actually sure how he'd done it, but somehow, through some trickery so cunning that he'd even baffled himself, its originator, he'd managed to get into the Gryffindor common room. He'd been pestering the Mudblood about it for weeks, now, trusting to sheer annoyingness and whatever subtle hints he could think of to drop to get him in; and then, one day, she'd suddenly said yes. At the rate things were going, he had expected it to take another month, at least. He'd even made it one of his New Years resolutions, even though New Years was still almost a week away._

He might have thought it was Ginny's intervention - although why she would want him there was anyone's guess - except that she had made it quite clear, in the few days since their chess game, that she would prefer it if he wasn't around. Frustratingly, it wasn't a 'go away, I hate you' sort of attitude, but more of a 'I don't have time for you right now.' Nobody dismissed a Malfoy like that.

So it was that, through some twist of fate or his own contrivance, Draco found himself sitting in a deep armchair in front of the Gryffindor fire, fully conscious that the quiet in the room was caused by his presence alone. There were hardly any students left over the break, but if the Slytherin common room was anything to judge by, those remaining should have been making more noise than the entire House normally would, as festive cheer and boredom took hold. Instead, it was almost peaceful, in a menacing sort of way.

Not that he considered Potty and Weasel much of a threat, he amended to himself. If they wanted to sit around and glare at him, imagining that they were being subtle or some such, that was their outlook. For his part, he intended to sit in this - rather comfortable - armchair, ignoring them all and basking in the knowledge that he, Draco Malfoy, self-appointed and uncontested Prince of Slytherin (although he didn't use that title out loud, he just acted as though he were), was sitting in the Gryffindor common room.

"So…" Was the Mudblood actually trying to make conversation? He had thought she had learned her lesson back in September, during that disastrous picnic. There was no way in heaven or earth that he would have a civil conversation with the likes of the Dream Team. "How has your vacation been, Malfoy?"

_She used to try calling me Draco_, he mused. He'd forbidden it, of course, but she'd persisted for a time, taking some perverse pleasure in that small modicum of revenge. As though it actually bothered him all that much; he was used to having such an ill-thought-out name, and had long ago decided that at least his parents hadn't hated him enough to call him Ronald.

It was an effort not to glare at her. _She's supposed to be smart, but she can't figure out that I never, ever want to hear her voice._ Unoccupied by other things, his thoughts drifted to the other member of Gryffindor with whom he was, ah, _acquainted_, and curiosity as to where she might be. If he hadn't been stuck in this room because of his own bloody-minded determination to piss off as many Gryffindors as possible, he might have gone looking for her, as had become his habit. Sometimes, he would go up and bother her, just to see how she would react and, perhaps, start another small spat which would leave him grinning to himself for hours. Other times, he would stay out of her line of sight and just watch her.

Right now, though, he had no idea where she might be. For all he knew, she was off with Zabini somewhere, and the other boy was using the time to make a move on the little red-head. Whenever Zabini tried anything while Draco was present, Draco found some excuse to block his housemate's efforts. _Might as well spread the suffering around_, he reasoned. _There's no reason I can't torture people from my own House as well._

As though in answer to his thoughts, he heard the portrait slam. Unable to stop himself, he glanced over to find that, as he had secretly hoped, Ginny had arrived. With her hair pulled up hastily in a clip so that strands of it escaped in every direction and a smudge of ink on her cheek, she looked undeniably studious. But while he hated that aspect of Granger's personality, it seemed almost - not cute, he would never use the word 'cute' - _attractive _when it applied to Ginny.

She stomped over to a table just behind where Weasel sat and slammed her pile of papers onto the table before throwing herself into a chair. Someone had recently caught the brunt end of her temper, Draco suspected, and he considered himself wise enough not to say anything to bring the aftereffects down on his own head.

No one ever accused Weasel of being that intelligent, however. "Are those your Transfiguration notes? Can I borrow them?" _From a sixth year? _Draco wondered. _Only Crabbe and Goyle need to do that._

"If you need to borrow a first year's paper to do your homework, Ron, you really _are _pathetic." It was a thing of beauty to watch little Ginny take out her frustration on her looming brother. "And even if they _were _my notes, no, you couldn't borrow them, because they're _mine_, and you should have taken your own when _you _were in sixth year."

"I did, I just…"

"Borrowed 'Mione's, I know. What's he doing here?" As far as Draco knew, Ginny had never once even looked in his direction, but she was still aware of him. He took that as a promising sign that he was finally getting to her. On the other hand, she hadn't put any special inflection on the sentence - she might have been asking why someone had their owl with them. Plus, being noticed put him squarely in the line of fire. "No, never mind. I don't have time to listen to you ranting."

Weasel only managed to squeak out an indignant "I don't…" before his sister continued her tirade - which it was, if delivered in a very calm manner.

"Get your ass over here, Malfoy. I said _now._"

Bemused, and a little uncertain as to what she wanted, he stood slowly and stretched before sauntering over to her. It wouldn't do to make her think he would hurry for anyone, least of all her. A single glance at Weasel's red face made him change his mind about sitting across from her, and instead he pulled a chair up close to Ginny and sat beside her.

She gave him an irritated look, but didn't comment. Instead, she grabbed a stack of papers and slammed them in front of him. "Mark."

"Why me?" It sounded a bit pathetic, even to himself.

The look she gave him spoke volumes, but all she said was, "Please." With an inward sigh, he grabbed a quill and started reading the paper. How was it, he wondered, that he could read so much into a single glance from her? Coming from Snape, that look might have meant, "you think you're being clever, but keep it up and it'll be points off." Coming from the Mudblood it could have meant "I hate you, slimeball." From Dumbledore, he wouldn't have been surprised if it had meant, "do you know, I believe I may have just got a frog stuck up my nose." But coming from Ginny, it meant "you're being annoying again" and "I don't have time for this" and "because I trust you" and maybe even "I could really use the help right now but I'm too proud to ask for it, especially from you, but I'm damn sure not asking any of _them_." He put a big red circle around a paragraph that appeared, for no good reason, to be made up of only half a sentence, despite being four inches long. Maybe he _was _just reading to much into that look. It might have only meant "you're annoying." _Aren't Ravenclaw's supposed to be smart? _he wondered as he scribbled a failing grade at the top of the page in a big, cheerful font.

Ginny wasn't about to speak first, he realized some time later, so it was up to him. "So," he said conversationally, "how did you get stuck doing Snape's marking?"

"It was meant to be a detention." Draco froze. He was helping her with her detention? "But Dumbledore put me to cleaning cauldrons instead, and told me to mark them anyways so that Gryffindors would stop failing Potions."

"Oh, I see. So little goody-goody Gryff…"

"Fails more students than Snape ever did," she agreed, not looking away from the paper that she was covering in red marks. "Show me a first year that can put together a coherent sentence and I'll give them a perfect score, even if they try to tell me a levitation potion ought to be orange because it's their favorite color."

"They've tried that?"

Finally she looked at him, glancing sideways through her curtain of hair to give him an amused look. "Have you ever reread your papers from first year, Draco?"

Draco was vaguely aware that, somewhere in the background, a red-haired oaf was about to have an apoplexy because, not only was he talking to Ginny with something approaching friendliness, she had just called him by name. Aware that it would probably lead to an attempt on his life, he grinned at her. "No, I haven't, _Ginny_."

Her slight return grin said she knew what he was doing. She stuck a hand in the pile in front of her, seemingly at random, and pulled out a much creased paper. "In that case, sweetums…" She slammed the paper in front of him. "Shut up and sit down, Ron."

The menacing presence ignored her, storming closer to where Draco sat, until… "I said, _sit down._" An irritated wave of Ginny's wand knocked her brother backwards across the room. Draco didn't really notice; his attention was focused on the page in front of him. It was his first perfect paper - his very first potions paper, in fact.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was in a pile that Snape told me to use as reference when I started marking, _and stay sat!_ What do you think?"

As much as it hurt, he settled on the truth. She already knew about Snape's favoritism, and pretending that the evidence wasn't right there in front of him would only make him look stupid. "I can't believe I passed."

"I can't believe you were ever that dumb," she agreed.

Shocked, he looked up from the paper. There was a hint of a blush in her cheeks, but she was still composed. "Was that almost a compliment?" he demanded, unable to think of any other suitable reply.

"Ron, I told you to _stay sat, or I will nail your ears to the floor!_ Just an observation that maybe Snape was right to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"How would you know…"

She gave him an irritated look. A 'please stop being an idiot' look. A 'I didn't want to mention this' look. "Snape's not the most organized man, besides being a greasy git. He gave me the first half of your senior thesis along with some second-year papers."

"Oh." What else was there to say? 'Thank you for accidentally reading it'? 'Yes, I thought it was damn good, myself'? 'You actually understood it' might have been acceptable, if he'd been able to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Instead, he said, "Did I get a passing grade?"

"Sadly, it was incomplete." She shrugged. "I had to fail you…" a very deliberate glance at her brother, who was ignoring her warnings to stay away… "shnookums."

Pulling the next paper to be marked towards him, Draco sighed in a very exaggerated way. "It's alright, babe. You can make it up to me later."

Just before he was knocked backwards, chair and all, by a mass of very angry red-head, Draco caught a good look at Ginny's face. Later, he was sure that hitting the floor must have addled his head, because there was no way a single look could so many meanings, even one of her looks.

"You sorry son of a - "

"Ronald Weasley!"

The fist stopped half an inch from Draco's face. Experimentally, he tried breathing again, but found that having a very angry Weasley kneeling on his chest while pulling his face up by his collar didn't really allow him that luxury. "Get off him right now, Ronald!"

The younger Weasley didn't even wait to see if her brother would do as she said, and instead sent him flailing across the room with a wave of her wand. It was a pity that he narrowly missed being speared on the halberd held by a suit of armor. "Go to your room! And did I tell you that you could stop marking?"

_It's an awful shrew I've chosen for myself_, Draco thought, and it wasn't until later that it occurred to him to be horrified by the direction of his thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

The end is in sight. This is (very probably) the second last chapter. More coming soon, if Hell Week doesn't kill me first.

* * *

There were no presents. Not one.

At first he thought he'd gotten the day wrong, and that today was actually Christmas Eve, but a glance at the calendar showed that, as he had thought, it just wasn't possible for him to be that dumb. This (mostly) welcome discovery was accompanied by the single envelope he had found when casting about for his presents. No, he hadn't been casting about, he had been… searching. Yeah, he'd been searching, and in a very dignified manner. Definitely not panicking because the usual mountain of presents hadn't been at the foot of his bed.

His name - just his first - had been scrawled on the envelope in spidery writing. Not a hand that was familiar to him, but one he thought he had seen somewhere before. If the writer knew something about his missing pile of presents, heads would roll, he vowed. Draco had never been a fan of Christmas, but the piles of gifts had helped to mitigate that distaste somewhat.

And now there were no presents, and he was pissed.

There wasn't a card inside the envelope, just a scrap of parchment the looked like it had been torn off the bottom of an old assignment. Hardly worth wasting an envelope on, in his opinion.

_Come to the Gryffindor common room. Your gifts are here._

He wasn't sure if it was an invitation or a threat. Knowing that lot, it could be either. Still, there was no reason he could see for them to invite him up to their common room, today of all days. Surely they'd rather be spared his presence today, just as he had been hoping to avoid them. Unless… well, that was just him being stupid. She might not mind him quite as much as the rest of them, but even she wouldn't go so far. Would she?

He showered and dressed quickly. He told himself that it was so he could go up there and get the pain over with and get his presents back, but a traitorous part of him insisted it was because he hoped _someone _actually wanted to see him. Even if that wasn't the case, he wasn't about to pass up the chance to make life miserable for the Golden Trio.

Upstairs, he stopped in front of the portrait of the fat lady, uncertain as to how to continue. His entrance ought to be properly dramatic, he thought, or at least decently dignified. Knocking and waiting to be let in just didn't fit that criteria.

"Are you going in?" the portrait demanded. "She said I was to let you in, but if you don't want to…" She sounded hopeful. "What are things coming to these days, that's what I want to know." That decided him. If people didn't like him being there, then he was going to go in an bloody well make himself at home, just to be contrary. And to get those damn Christmas presents, with a side dish of revenge.

"Shut up and open the damn door," he snapped. The woman looked suitably offended, but after a moment when it looked like she might deny him entry after all, the door swung open. With it open, he could hear music and laughter beyond, coupled with the bang of a firecracker and a sound he truly loved to hear.

"If you try that one more time, Ron Weasley, I'll make sure it does more than singe your eyebrows." Yep, sounded like his favorite little firecracker has just blown up at her older brother. With a contented smirk firmly fixed on his face, Draco sauntered inside.

"But Ginny…"

"Don't you even…"

"You never get mad when Fred and George do it."

"That's because they aren't liable to blow their own heads off, you imbecile."

"Please, Ginny, don't yell at him. It's Christmas." At the pathetic sound of the Mudblood's voice, Draco's smirk grew. Just a few short months, and she'd broken down completely. Maybe he'd even done permanent damage to her confidence - he hoped so.

"Relax, Gin, it's Christmas." Potty was grinning, inviting the annoyed girl to smile with him and enjoy the day. At that moment, Draco wanted nothing more that to punch the annoying bastard full in the face. To think Potty would have the audacity to try talking to Ginny like that.

"All three of you can… oh, good morning, Draco." _Finally_. If he hadn't been so entertained watching them fight, Draco would have been annoyed at how long it took them to notice his presence.

Potty and Weasel glared nastily at him, probably as much because of Ginny's suddenly sweet voice as his general presence. The Mudblood went pale. Draco offered them all his very best smirk. "Morning, babe."

He tried to grab her and give her a kiss - just to piss them all off, of course - but she slipped away from him and punched him in the arm. Hard. _No need for that; I'm just being my usual charming self, _he thought, giving her a reproachful look. Those little fists hurt.

"Don't think I'm putting up with you today," she warned him, but he thought he saw her eyes sparkling. "There's breakfast on the table over there. I bet you didn't even think to eat before you came up, did you?" She added with a frown.

"I'm not much of a breakfast person."

"You should be. It's important." He wasn't about to argue with her, just went and took a muffin from the spread that had evidently been brought up by house elves.

"Do I get my presents now?" He hadn't meant to sound so whiney.

"Not for a little way. We're still waiting for the Hufflepuffs." _Ah. _He'd thought the common room seemed unusually crowded for Christmas break, but now he saw a couple cloaks with Ravenclaw crests on them tossed over the back of a chair near the fire. Someone had decided to share the Christmas spirit throughout the castle.

"I'm surprised you came, Malfoy." He thought the boy's name was Shoe. Or was it Boot? "What in Merlin's name possessed you to accept the invitation?" The boy didn't sound as though he was upset by Draco's presence, just extremely surprised and puzzled by it.

That scrap of parchment hardly qualified as an invitation to Draco. "I felt like it." Obviously, not everyone had been blackmailed into coming.

"Is that all you're eating?" Ginny was back, and fully ready to mother him. "At least have some fruit."

"Are you finished yet?" he groused, only to be given a sugary smile.

"Why don't you go play chess with Ron while you wait?" She paused. "Unless you think he'll beat you." _As though that blockhead has enough intelligence to even understand the game._


	10. Chapter 10

There was snow on the ground outside, garlands on the fireplace, presents piled high under the tree. People hung around the common room, laughing and joking, blushing when they got caught under the mistletoe and then trying to get their unwary friends to wander under it and suffer the same embarrassment. For love of Harry and the Weasleys, the house elves in the kitchens had sent up a magnificent breakfast buffet, complete with all sorts of festive treats. It was, in fact, the perfect Christmas morning.

Or almost. There were a couple of things Harry wouldn't have minded changing. On the bright side, they were the sort of things that he _could _change, and very soon would. Malfoy was currently on his way to getting roasted at Wizard Chess by Ron, and as soon as the Hufflepuffs arrived, not even Malfoy could remain annoying and arrogant in the face of so people who detested him. It was just a question of numbers, really. Malfoy was not going to have a merry Christmas in the least.

On the other hand, Harry had a spectacular one planned for himself. Ginny had kept him at arm's length for the past several months, teasing him as she flirted with other guys, but today he planned to make it clear that he wasn't putting up with that anymore. Ginny belonged with him, and that was that. She recognized it, too, but like the rest of her family, she was too damn stubborn to admit what was right in front of her face. But where this trait could be annoying in her relatives, he found it rather charming in her.

He had a plan, too. Nothing elaborate, because then it could go wrong, but a simple, solid, dependable plan. Hermione had enchanted the mistletoe so that, if you stepped under it and didn't get a kiss, you turned green. The longer you waited, the greener you got. Sooner or later, Ginny would step under the mistletoe and, when she did, Harry would be ready to go to her rescue.

He kept one eye on the red-haired girl as she made her way around the room, talking and joking with the others. His main attention was focused on the chess board. The puzzling thing about it was that Ron should have been able to win long ago. Instead of trying to win, Ron seemed to be herding certain pieces of Malfoy's around the board. Perhaps Malfoy was better than they had thought or, more likely, Ron had some broader strategy that Harry, being a mediocre chess player at best, couldn't see.

The Hufflepuff's arrived. Ginny, the only Gryffindor not involved in _Plan: Destroy Draco _

_Malfoy_, as Harry privately called it, played the part of hostess, greeting them and helping them hang their cloaks. Actually, now that Harry thought of it, Ginny didn't even know about the plan. Which was just as well, since she sometimes acted like she actually had a soft spot for the bastard. He could put up with her flirting with other guys to annoy him (mostly), but that was one little game of hers that was going to stop.

Ginny's cheerful voice could be heard clearly over the general din as she greeted the newcomers. "There's breakfast on the table over there. Watch out for the mistletoe, it turns you green." _Damn, she knows. Oh well._

On the other side of the room, Hermione was gesturing to him frantically. For a moment, Harry frowned, wondering why she couldn't just come over and talk to him. The he remembered Malfoy's presence and Hermione's desire to be no where near him - really, how could he have forgotten? He excused himself to Ron, who ignored him, and went to join her.

"So, have you planned how you're going to dump him, yet?" he asked as he sat next to her. That was the one part of the plan that had yet to be finalized, and Hermione had been vague at best as to any ideas she had.

His friend looked at him sadly, and Harry thought there might be something like panic in her eyes as well. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I can't."

"How can't you? Anyone can see how miserable he makes you." As though they hadn't been through this argument a dozen times before. He had thought that now, with the plan in action, she might finally ditch the bastard. It looked like there would be no such luck.

"I… he needs to break up with me. I'll explain it all then, I promise." As he had so often these past few months, Harry got a strong impression that there was something she wasn't telling him.

The breakup had been an important part of the plan. If it wasn't included, every other piece had to be guaranteed to work. "You can do your other parts, right?" There was an edge to his words that he hadn't meant to give them.

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah. I promise, I'll do those. And I'll explain, just as soon as I can, Harry. I promise." Harry frowned at her again, then shrugged. If he didn't trust her on this, the plan would never work.

"Sure. Anything else I should know about?" He tried not to sound bitter, really he did.

"I don't think so. We'll just wait for Ron to finish beating him into the ground, then?"

She sounded so keen on the thought that Harry wondered, for what felt like the millionth time, what had possessed her to agree to go out with the slimy ferret in the first place.

"I'm going to go back and watch."

When he sat down beside Ron, it seemed as though he hadn't even gotten up. Ron was still herding Malfoy's pieces around the board. All in all, it was looking like a very boring game. As though sensing his impatience, Ron glanced up at him and offered a wry grin. "Just about done. I think Gin might have overestimated my abilities a bit, when she said I'd have it set in twenty minutes."

_Ginny? _What did she have to do with the game? As far as Harry knew, it had been his idea to have Ron roast Malfoy at chess as a way to kick off the festivities. He'd been happy when Ginny had sent Malfoy to start the game, but had thought Ron must have tipped her off about that part of the plan. But to hear Ron talking about it, it was like Ginny had actively planned it. Which was just silly: Ginny was smart, and a very good witch, but she was also very sweet. She would never be part of something like this plan.

Ron seemed to realize that Harry had read too much into what he'd said. "Sorry, mate. I meant, she thought I could roast the ferret in twenty minutes." He grinned. "She gives me too much credit." He made another move.

"Yeah, she does," Malfoy agreed, taking one of Ron's pawns.

For a wonder, Ron didn't take the bait. "Whatever, Ferret. Hey, Gin, I'm done."

"Get dropped on your head when you were younger, Weasel-King?" Malfoy demanded. "The game's nowhere near done."

Ginny's arrival was a wonderful thing. She was radiant today, even though her latest dark blue Weasley jumper was a bit too big. Harry thought she looked adorable. She put a hand on Ron's shoulder as she surveyed the board, bright eyes taking note of each piece. He'd forgotten she was an avid chess player, just like all her brothers, even if Ron almost always beat her. But then, Ron almost always beat everyone.

"Close enough," she agreed.

Her brother offered her a half-hearted glare. "If you want it done better, do it yourself next time."

Ginny's laugh was light and musical. "I'm sorry, Ron. I forgot I was asking the impossible. I couldn't have done half so well."

The praise seemed to soothe Ron's ruffled feathers. "Too right," he muttered.

"What the hell are you two talking about? We're not done yet," Malfoy snapped.

She smiled at him, and his anger seemed to disappear. That sort of thing was really going to have to stop. "I just said it was close enough, not that it was done, idiot," she told him kindly, as though forgiving him for being stupid.

Instead of getting annoyed, Malfoy grinned back at her. "Sorry, babe, wasn't listening. What was that?"

Only Ron's fierce glare kept Harry from throwing himself at the bastard and trying to beat the pulp out of him. The slimy ferret would get what was coming to him soon, anyway.

Ginny's smirk was out of place on her sweet face. "I think we've had enough of this game…"

"Oh sure, quit," Malfoy interjected. "Everyone will…"

"…and it's time to show the playing field," Ginny continued, ignoring him completely. She pulled out her wand and tapped the board.

The pieces changed. For a second, Harry wondered why she would bother changing the pieces from black and white to red and green. Then he got a better look at the piece closest to him.

Ron's chess set was made of faceless stone pieces, dressed in the finery of an age that had believed in knights and chivalry and dragons. Even faceless, the kings had been imposing figures. The white king was neither white nor faceless, now. Still tall compared to the others, the figure now wore the red robes of the Gryffindor quidditch team, which clashed with its tiny mop of bright orange hair. It was, Harry realized, Ron himself.

In the back of his mind, Harry found himself wondering how Ron could stand to have a chess piece of himself after what they had gone through their first year. True, Ron was a much better player now, and unlikely to lose the piece, but at the same time, there was something about it that made Harry want to grit his teeth.

That was in the back of his mind, though. Forefront was astonishment at the other figures revealed. Stuck near the center of the board was the black queen, it's black robes replaced by Slytherin green below Hermione's bushy brown hair. White knight Lavender and rook Pavarti had her pinned there, and if the piece was moved, bishop Seamus could take her out.

At the far end of the board was Malfoy as the black king, looking rather villainous flanked by bishop Snape and rooks Crabbe and Goyle, all in green robes. The pieces were so perfect they had captured the looks of greedy befuddlement that Crabbe and Goyle normally wore, and the greasy tint of Snape's hair.

And in one corner, looking nearly as beautiful as a chess piece as she did in real life, was the white queen Ginny, whose hair somehow didn't clash at all with her red robes. Intrigued, Harry searched the board for himself, only to discover that his own piece, a white bishop, had already been captured and tossed to the side, along with the bishop Zabini and a white pawn version of Terry Boot.

Wondering what the others thought of this, Harry glanced around the table. Ron's eyes were dark and unreadable, as though he himself wasn't sure what to think of this newly revealed game. Ginny's eyes were hard and bright as she looked down on something that Harry couldn't see. Malfoy seemed to be trying to hide his interest.

"That does change things a bit, doesn't it?" he mused.

Ginny offered him a grin that was, to Harry's mind, too much like the stupid ferret's own stupid smirk. "Yeah. Ron?" Her brother grunted. Queen Ginny was moved from her obscure corner to capture Queen Hermione. Ginny was now staring at Malfoy intently. "Well?"

The git rolled hit eyes. "Take her, she's yours. I don't have any use for her."

"And?" Ginny prompted. She looked a bit unwell, to Harry's eyes, but she didn't seem about to let that interfere with her moment of victory.

With a scowl, Malfoy looked back at the board. A second later his eyes widened comically. Ginny leaned down, right in his face, and grinned at him. "Checkmate." The git stared her in the eye, and once more Harry had to stop himself from hitting the bastard. _Let her gloat,_ he told himself sternly.

"You know," Malfoy said after a moment, "you look splendid in Slytherin colors, babe."

Too late, Harry realized what the git meant. At some point in the last few minutes, Ginny had passed under the enchanted mistletoe, and what he had thought was sickness spreading on her face was the magical green that was supposed to be his cue to kiss her.

The slimy ferret leaned forward and kissed Ginny.

As he dived forward to beat the holy hell out of the stupid bastard, Harry thought he heard Ginny's voice in the background, as though from a great distance.

"Looks like we won, Ron."

* * *

_Almost done..._


End file.
